


Roses are Red

by ClaraxBarton



Series: Thank you fics [12]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coffee Shop Owner Clint, Established Relationship, F/M, Florist Sam, M/M, Married Clint and Natasha, Multi, Tattoo artist Natasha Romanov, widowbirds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23545774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: This thing they've been doing for the last almost year is good. It's great. But Sam can't help but wish it was something a little more.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson, Clint Barton/Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson
Series: Thank you fics [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1446955
Comments: 28
Kudos: 120





	Roses are Red

**Author's Note:**

> For Madam_Michael - I can't find your AO3 pseudo???
> 
> Now beta read by the amazing Ro!!!!

“Hold still or I’m going to tie you down,” Natasha said.

Sam knew better than to test her - she would, she  _ had _ , tied him down before. And that little frown on her face, the crease between her brows and the way her eyes were narrowed? She meant business - and not the kind of fun kind.

So Sam slowly inhaled and then exhaled and closed his eyes and tried to will his body into stillness.

“Better,” Natasha allowed, still sounding faintly irritated.

“You know,  _ you _ invited  _ me _ over for coffee,” Sam muttered. “You never said anything about all of this.”

He didn’t need to open his eyes to know Natasha was smirking instead of frowning now. He could hear it in her voice when she spoke again.

“You’re the one who showed up in a tank top and running shorts.”

“That’s because I was out  _ running _ .”

“And I wasn’t going to let you lounge all over my furniture and get sweat everywhere. Of course you had to take a shower.”

“Of course,” Sam agreed, and… okay, maybe he was smirking too now.

“And of course Clint just wanted to be helpful and wash your back,” Natasha continued.

Sam manfully swallowed a laugh - and maybe, okay, sure, a bit of a moan at the memory.

“He was, uh, real helpful,” Sam allowed.

“Hmm. Always is. Are you sure you want a carnation instead of a rose here?” She tapped at his chest, and Sam opened his eyes to look down at himself.

He was still naked - Clint washing Sam’s back had led to Clint eating him out and had led to Sam and Clint and Natasha in bed in a sprawl of limbs and mouths and… eventually, another shower. After that shower - and after Natasha and Sam had both had to slap Clint’s wandering hands away more than once - Clint was sent out to get coffee while Natasha put Sam back on the bed and grabbed her permanent markers and started to draw on him.

This was… kind of their thing.

The thing that had first led Sam into Natasha’s tattoo shop when he moved to town eleven months ago. The thing that had led to Natasha telling him to take off his shirt and settling him down in her chair and sketching all over his back for hours, after closing, until Clint - her husband - showed up with enough takeout for all three of them and casually chatted with Sam while Natasha drew with one hand and ate with the other and, eventually, Natasha took photos, showed them to Sam, and told him to get dressed and come home with them. Which, of course, Sam did.

Nearly a year later, Sam was still going home with them, and Natasha was still drawing on him, and Sam still hadn’t gotten a single tattoo, even though both Clint and Natasha were covered with them and even though a few times now Natasha had taken her tattoo gun to Sam’s skin - empty and clean and buzzing goddamn delightfully.

Today, Sam’s chest was covered in an intricate wreath of flowers - his request had made Clint smirk and Natasha arch an eyebrow, but really, what did she expect from Sam, owner of a flower shop? The guy who brought over a bouquet every time the married couple invited him over, made sure Natasha’s tattoo parlor had a steady supply of pressed, dried flowers for the weird - but cool - diorama of skulls and feathers and things in the lobby, made sure Clint’s coffee shop always had a few sprigs of something alive on his cafe tables.

“Yeah, I want a carnation,” Sam said. The wreath itself was made of hydrangeas and gardenias, but on the inside of the wreath Sam had requested a bunch of carnations, delphinium and a sunflower. “They were my mom’s favorites,” Sam said, which wasn’t a lie - it was completely true. But it wasn’t why he wanted a carnation.

It had taken him a few weeks to settle on this, to finally give in to the temptation to actually get inked, and that morning had been unexpectedly perfect. He told Natasha he wanted a flower wreath, showed her what the flowers looked like on his phone, explained he wanted the three flowers together in the center, and she’d gone to town.

And it didn’t disappoint. The carnations she had saved for last, inking in the delphinium and sunflower after the wreath itself, and now… 

She was doing the frown thing again, her little grimace of concentration that Sam secretly thought was the most adorable goddamn thing on the planet but was smart enough to never vocalize.

“What do carnations mean again?” Natasha asked as she started to draw.

Sam swallowed hard.

Yeah… it really had been too much to hope for that she wouldn’t ask.

“Depends on the color,” he hedged.

Natasha arched an eyebrow but didn’t look up.

All of her linework was in black, and they hadn’t talked about her adding in any color - not much point, with her markers and Sam’s dark skin. When he got the actual tattoo, though - and hopefully she would start on it for real today - he wanted it in color. 

“Red,” he admitted. “It’s, uh love and pride and admiration.”

“Mm. And the delphinium?”

Sam felt his face heat, but, well…

“Levity, but also passion and… big-heartedness.”

“And the sunflower - that’s dedication, right?” Natasha asked. Well, she didn’t really ask so much as state it.

“Yeah,” Sam admitted.

“Quite the trifecta,” Natasha said. She made a few more marks and then sat back on her heels to survey her work.

Sam wondered if now was a good time to run away forever.

Of course, that was also the exact moment that Clint returned to the apartment.

The couple lived in a loft apartment, open concept with only the bathroom walled off and every other space bleeding into the other. Polished concrete floors, high brick walls and enormous windows made the space feel huge and light, and normally, Sam loved it.

At the moment, though, he was all-too aware that there was nowhere to  _ hide _ .

Because Natasha had definitely just figured him out, and Clint, for all that he played the joker, could pick up on social cues and read his wife’s face like it was his job.

“Hey, looking good, babe,” Clint said as he approached the bed.

He had three cups of coffee in hand and a brown bag that smelled like sugar and bread and heaven. Clint gave himself weekends off from opening his own shop, entrusting it to his ‘not-protege’ Kate Bishop while he lounged around with his wife and, for the last four months straight, Sam.

Clint dropped a kiss on Natasha’s head and leaned down to brush his lips over Sam’s in an easy, familiar greeting that set Sam’s heart racing and Natasha’s eyes crinkling and her lips curling up.

Natasha snapped a photo of Sam’s chest and then gestured for him to sit up.

Together, the three of them spread out over the bed and drank coffee and got crumbs everywhere, and Sam let himself think maybe he’d gotten away with it.

But then Clint and Natasha exchanged a look between them, and Clint grinned.

He reached for Sam’s coffee cup and set it down on the nightstand with his own. Natasha, Sam couldn’t help but notice, shifted away just enough to be safely away from either Clint or Sam grabbing her.

And then Clint was on him, pinning Sam to the bed and rubbing his sweatpant-covered legs against Sam’s bare ones and rubbing his stubbled jaw over Sam’s sensitive throat.

Clint kissed him, mouth open and tongue pressed to Sam’s pulse point, and Sam groaned.

“You smell awesome when you’ve used my soap,” Clint all but growled.

And… okay. So maybe Sam had a thing for Clint’s soap, had maybe made no effort to hide it whenever he showered at their place and used it openly and greedily. But this was the first time that Clint had vocalized a similar appreciation.

Clint kissed him on the lips again, this time nothing like the chaste, familiar kiss before, but instead, intense and deep and breath-stealing and mind-blowing.

“And you look amazing on our sheets,” Clint continued. He reached for Sam’s arms and spread them wide, holding him down, and fuck.

Sam had already gotten off twice this morning. He wasn’t young enough for this shit.

His dick, though, had other opinions.

“Looks good in our kitchen too,” Natasha contributed.

She had moved even further away, entirely off the bed to stand and watch them. She was still sipping from her coffee, amused and entertained and looking at them like they were her favorite porno. 

“You know,” Clint drawled, brushing his lips along Sam’s jaw and back down to his throat again, lower, to kiss and lick at Sam’s chest and Natasha’s art. “It’d be nice to have you around all the time.”

Sam blinked. Sucked in a breath. Checked to make sure he was actually alive and breathing and… not dreaming.

He looked over at Natasha. She was still smirking at them.

“Move in with us,” Clint said just before biting down, gently but sharply, pulling at Sam’s belly with his teeth and making Sam shudder and moan.

“Wh-”

“There’s plenty of space for you here,” Natasha said when Sam stalled out before even finishing a single syllable.

She made it sound practical - like, there’s room in the closet and the dressers and on the couch and in the bed. But the look in her eyes made it clear this was more than that. It wasn’t about physical space. It was about sharing their lives, their hearts.

Her eyes flicked down to the flowers on his chest, and her gaze softened, an expression she rarely allowed on her face but that took Sam’s breath away every time he saw it, whether it was directed at him or Clint.

“Please,” Clint begged, hips thrusting against Sam’s and voice breathy.

Sam twisted out of his grip, wrestled Clint off of him and onto his back and perched above him.

Clint grinned up at him, blue eyes dark with lust and pale cheeks flushed.

“No more eating in bed,” Sam said, because he could feel pastry stuck to his back and… Clint might not give a fuck about mess and Natasha might have other things on her mind that were way more important than crumbs on sheets, but Sam… had to draw a line somewhere.

“Promise,” Clint said, easy as anything, still grinning. He rolled his hips, and Sam couldn’t resist grinding against him in return.

“Is that a yes, then?” Natasha asked.

Sam looked over at her, didn’t bat Clint’s hands away when he gripped Sam’s hips and encouraged him to keep rubbing against Clint.

“Yes, it’s a yes. If… would you start on the linework for this today? For real?” Sam gestured to his chest.

Natasha lifted her chin.

“I would love to.”

-o-

  
  



End file.
